I'll admit to
not regularly reading what I'd have to call scholarly books. But the
idea of reading as a spiritual practice--especially when it seemed to
involve reading in bed--appealed to me.
McMaster professor
Daniel Coleman's opening chapter pulls me right in: a six-year-old boy
lies in a bed, holding a book he doesn't know how to read, yet his action
reveals the fact that he already understands the power inherent in the
word.
Coleman is also
quick to reveal what he means by spirituality, defining it in a no-nonsense
way: "By spirituality, I mean a drive or energy in ourselves that is
outward-reaching, that is a kind of longing to be meaningfully connected.
I mean what finally moves us, what propels our actions and sparks our
imaginations." (9) He then spends the rest of the book illustrating
the various connectivities that are part of the act of reading.
He is wise in not
restricting his interpretation of reading to the printed page, as he
considers the many ways we 'read' various other media, from how we view
paintings, architecture or film, right down to how we deal with messages
on the shopping channel. He does however distinguish the act of reading
of print materials from the many other forms of reading we have all
learned to do. He goes so far as to create a new label for what we might
think of as traditional reading, equating it to a kind of revolutionary
act. "Contemplative reading, then, is countercultural for a generation
that is increasingly drawn away from silence, slowness, reflection,
and internally generated imagination." (31) Would taking out the ear
buds and turning a page really change anything? I'm not sure. But he
does make quite a case for the ways our brains work and what happens
to us when we're having to create a whole world from black squiggles
on a page.
Thoughtful,
slow, critical, and appreciative reading is spiritually crucial in
times like these. If we are to see beyond the cynicism of commodity
culture, if we are to engage in the hard work of expanding democracy
and producing citizens instead of consumers, we need to become affirmative
and suspicious readers. So it does matter what we read, but it matters
even more who we become by reading. (41)
And this is where
his arguments really become intriguing, as he illustrates ways that
the act of reading changes us. Little wonder that slave-owners didn't
permit their charges to learn how to read. They might have got big ideas
about throwing off their chains. And such ideas lead us to think about
contemporary situations--to consider cultures in which girls and women
aren't considered worthy of education, and even nearer at hand, where
literacy programs are threatened by government cutbacks. The result
will be a populace that is more easily manipulated, one less capable
of challenging the mass hypnosis of consumerism (and as I would add,
the paralyzing effects of a consciously created atmosphere of fear).
The book's bibliography
is extensive, citing writers from Augustine to Simone Weil, with a surprising
reliance on the work of quite a few poets, including Dionne Brand, Dennis
Lee and Don McKay. The detailed nature of its index is so impressive,
it's nearly a work of art.
One could find
fault with the book's frequent repetitions, but really, these are simply
the skilled repetitions of a good teacher--ones that serve to remind,
to reinforce--ones that bring us spiralling back to a central idea.
Although each
of its five sections could be read on separate occasions, and serve
as the starting point for a kind of intellectual meditation, the book
can also be digested as one very satisfying spiritual and mental feast.